Lovely War(99)

“Get rich,” she teased, “and donate a building in Joey’s name.”

They began to look around and actually see Paris. He realized he was thirsty, so they stopped in a café for lemonades.

“I wrote songs for Joey in the trenches,” he told her. “I wrote songs for you, too.”

“Let’s go to New York, and record them,” Colette said.

Aubrey dropped his straw. “Is that an offer?”

Colette flushed. Had she spoken too soon? “Um, is yours an offer?” I’ll go anywhere you are, Aubrey Edwards.

“It’s an offer, mademoiselle,” he told her. “You’d better believe it.”





DECEMBER 1942


     A Possible Ending





“WE CAN END there,” Aphrodite tells the other gods. “We can end at this moment, with both our young couples happy at last, after enduring much.”

Hades presses his fingertips together and watches the goddess of love thoughtfully.

It’s been a long story, but what is time to immortals? Aphrodite can squeeze an epic into the space between second hand clicks of the clock.

Hephaestus strokes his bearded chin. Then he rises and hobbles over to the golden net. At one touch of his hand, it parts, leaving an opening for Aphrodite to pass through.

“Court is adjourned,” he says. “The defendant is acquitted.” He smiles wryly. “This defendant’s arrest is declared unlawful. Forgive me, Goddess, for detaining you.”

Aphrodite blinks. For a moment she’s too stunned to seize her exit. She draws close to Hephaestus and speaks softly, for his hearing only.

“Do I leave now?” she asks. “You want me to be done?”

He gestures toward the door to show he will not stop her. “You’re free to go if you like.”

“It’s not what you think,” she whispers. “Me, with him.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t,” he says. “Let’s only deal in truth from now on, you and I.”

She bites her lip. “That’s not what I mean.” She turns to catch Ares craning his neck to try to hear them. “I’m not denying the affair. What I mean is . . .”

Hephaestus would rather hear anything but this right now.

“The pull, for you, is strong, during a big war.” Far better for him to voice the words than her. “Too many hearts need you. It’s intoxicating, being needed. Is that it?”

Apollo tinkers at his piano and pretends not to eavesdrop. Hades watches out the window at the city street below.

“I’m not what they think.” Aphrodite’s gaze is on the floor. “I’m not just some tart.”

“I know.” He does know. No matter what others might say, nor how they might judge.

She steps through the opening he’s created for her in the golden net.

“Thanks for the story, anyway,” Hephaestus tells her. “I won’t forget it. You’re good at what you do. And . . . I think I understand what you mean.”

Her pensive face breaks into a smile.

Hephaestus can’t resist smiling back. “I envy your mortals.”

One of her eyebrows rises. “As Ares says, they die, you know.”

The god of fires nods. “They do. But the lucky ones live first.” He bows slightly. His crippled back makes it hard for him to bend far. “The luckiest ones spend time with you.”

Aphrodite blinks in surprise.

Ares has had more than enough of these two whispering. He tries to dart through the opening Hephaestus has created, but he’s unable to pass. “Hey! Let me out of here.”

“You can rot in hell,” Hephaestus tells his brother.

“Technically, he can’t,” observes Hades.

Ares calls after his brother. “That isn’t the end of the story. She’s not telling you everything.” A sneer spreads across his lips. “She’s never told you everything.”





The Rest of the Story—July 15–August 17, 1918





ARES


THE WAR GROUND ON. The Germans’ last big push, the Champagne-Marne Offensive, or the Second Battle of the Marne, had ended in crushing defeat for Germany. At a total cost of a quarter million casualties, dead and wounded.

Both James and Aubrey saw combat in the battle, many miles apart on the Western Front. James had been reassigned to Britain’s Tenth Army under General Charles Mangin. He was sorry not to be back with his old friends, but that couldn’t be helped.

James arrived at the Front just when the battle began. A seasoned veteran, a deadly shooter, he fought like an Aegean warrior. Not because he loved a battle, but because it gave him the best chance of coming home.

I wish I could say that he fought without fear. That he felt impervious to danger, after all he’d been through. But the battle was brutal. Death on every side. If he hadn’t had his girl to think of, and his family back home, he never would’ve have made it.

Aubrey, too, fought like a dragon. This was the worst combat he’d seen by far. All the 369th men were dragons on the battlefield. Giants. Hoplites. Of them, 171 would receive the Croix de Guerre from the French. “Les Hommes de Bronze,” they called them. “Blutlustige Schwarzm?nner.” German for “bloodthirsty black men.”